Minerva and Ginevra
by Heptagon
Summary: What will you do if victory claims a price you are not willing to pay, but nobody is asking you? Will you then listen to your heart or your head? And when you choose to be wise, can you live with your decision? Or perhaps you're given a second chance.


**_Warning!_** This will be a bit confusing when it comes to dialogue, meaning it's difficult to understand who says what. However, this is intended to be so, and if you don't like it, don't read it.

**_Otherwise_**, enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Minny & Ginny do not belong to me. Neither does anyone or anything else from Harry Potter. **  
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**--- **

**Minerva and Ginevra**

She noticed her slip away from the scene, her long fiery hair disappearing round the corner. She knew where the girl was going and after shouting out a line of commands and witnessing those present rushing about to fulfill them, she hurried after her.

---

She was running along the seventh floor corridor. Running as if there were a thousand demons behind her in pursuit. Running for life. But not hers.

She didn't look too good. The recent events had marked her in more ways than one. Her arms and legs were covered with scratches and cuts, blood tickled down from her forehead, and she had hurt her left knee so that every step she took sent an agonizing jolt of pain through her entire body.

She didn't feel it.

In the last couple of moments her feelings had varied from grief to rage to despair. Now there was only need.

The seventh floor hallway had never felt this long. Yet, it wasn't endless. Deep down she wished it were.

"Pallas Athena!" she yelled to the gargoyle and pressed herself through the opening before it had fully managed to jump away. Taking two steps at a time, she flew up the stairs, raising the wand clutched into her hand and blasting the door into pieces. She didn't stop to check whether it was locked or not.

Only when she reached the office, did she allow herself to take a breath – the first since starting her sprint. A second later she lunged at the cupboard left of her, rummaging through it hectically, throwing unwanted items over her shoulder and ignoring their crash upon reaching the floor.

The longer she searched, the angrier she became. Her movements grew sharp and violent, she cursed first under her breath and then yelling out loud, she deliberately kicked at the furniture and hurled smaller objects against the walls and the floor.

When there seemed nothing more to smash or break, she stood still in the middle of the room, panting heavily and looking around.

It had to be here.

She could not give up. Not now. She needed to do it while she still had the courage and determination. Her Gryffindor courage.

Lowering her glance for a second she noticed her wand, stained with blood, and a wave of _something _coursed through her body. She lost no time.

"_Accio _Time Turner!"

She stretched out her hand, waiting for it to reach her, forcing away all the thoughts – the ones that whispered in her mind 'It won't come'.

It came. After a moment that lasted eternity.

Quickly she slid it round her neck, bringing the little silver object before her eyes.

How many turns?

"Just one," she heard herself speak without intending to.

One would be enough. Too many things had taken place during that last sixty minutes.

---

She stopped at her office door, drawing a sharp breath at the sight that opened up to her. She didn't see the mess, she didn't see broken furniture, she didn't see pieces of valuable items spread across the floor. All she did see was the girl with fire-red hair standing in front of her glancing at the hourglass between her fingers.

"Just one," she heard her say.

---

"Miss Weasley," her voice rang out, tired and frightened, but not angry.

She slowly turned her head and looked at her as if she had never seen her before. Their gazes locked, and only then did she speak out.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

The Headmistress did not hesitate, did not falter. Too swift for the eye to perceive, she had whipped out her wand and cast the spell.

She let out a piercing cry as the chain attached to the Time Turner shot up over her head and right into the grip of the older woman. She reached out to grab it too late, her fingertips barely grazing its cool surface.

Her own wand was raised at once, but again her opponent had been faster.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

---

Now she was wandless and seething with rage.

She had never felt this lonely before.

---

"Miss Weasley, what are you doing?" she questioned, knowing very well what she was trying to do but feeling it necessary to still ask.

"You know what I'm doing, Professor McGonagall." Her voice was forced calm, she held the eye contact and defiance reverberated from her every word.

For a moment she was slightly abashed by her words and the way they sounded, but she recovered quickly and steadied her gaze. She had to.

"Miss Weasley… Ginny," she corrected herself, thinking it better to address her by her given name. "I know what you might feel right now…"

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" she screamed at her, unable to stay calm any longer.

"I, too, cared…" The note of hurt sounded clearly in her tone, but she was too angry to notice.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" she yelled again. "NOTHING!"

"I know more than you think, Ginny," she murmured softly. "But this is not the answer," she added, holding up the silver sandglass, "sometimes evil things happen, and it's not meant for us to interrupt."

"You sound exactly like Dumbledore," she mocked.

"Do I?" A small smile appeared on her lips but was gone almost immediately. "Changing time is a very dangerous thing," she continued, trying to sound both firm and soothing. "You never know what may be the consequences. You may try to do the right thing, to do good but the result might be quite the opposite."

"I don't care," she claimed.

"You don't care? He sacrificed everything he had for this, and you do not care? You want his effort to be meaningless?"

"NO! But I want him to live."

"He gave his life for you, for all of us. It was his choice, and he would make it again if asked."

"He can't make my choices for me. And I choose him to live." Somehow she had managed to calm down and now her voice was frighteningly placid and empty.

"You can't choose over his life."

"No, but I can choose over mine." Each word darted through her mind as an icicle. She was starting to lose the fight. The battle of minds and wills.

"You do not know what else you might change by doing that."

"I change nothing but that one thing. You were there – you saw. You know."

"I remember what I saw." _And I will never forget it._

"Then you remember, Professor," she spoke loud and clear, in need to make her understand, in need to lose no more time. "You saw it yourself, Professor. Voldemort fell first. He was dead by the time his last desperate _Avada Kedavra _reached Harry. He was destroyed. He was dead. Harry did not need to die."

The Headmistress bit back her own tears. The scene returned to her far too clearly – as if it was happening all over again. She pushed it away from her mind, not ready to deal with it yet, bringing her full attention back to the girl.

Girl. Her pupil. Sixth year, sixteen years old. Standing there, just in front of her, determined and defiant, ready to risk more than her own life. For what?

For love.

"Did it not occur to you that Voldemort died **_because_** Po… Harry did not move? Because he was ready to sacrifice his life?" It hadn't been her own observation but it seemed plausible enough and she needed to make her understand.

"Yes, that may be it. But I am not going to change that."

"But if you attend to push Harry out of the way…" she began.

"That would be too risky. There's only one thing I can do," she was deadly calm now.

"What?" she asked, knowing the answer, reading it from her eyes.

"I'll simply place myself at the path of the curse."

Sixteen years. Ready to die. For love.

"Harry would have not wanted it. He cared too much about you."

"It's not his choice."

"No," the Headmistress replied, lifting the Time Turner up to her eyelevel again. "It is my choice."

"No, Professor…" she begged, her confidence and courage slowly starting to ebb away, eyeing her strict lined face with the first drops of despair and misery.

Sixth Year. Willing to die. For love. A Gryffindor. Foolish and reckless. But, oh, how brave and determined. Ready to die.

_She is pleading me to let her die. I can't._

"Miss Weasley… Ginny… Ginevra, I'm sorry."

"Please, Professor…"

"I can't. You know I can't."

Silence. And not. A strange unearthly music coming from a distance… so far, and yet so close. Echoing in mind, heart and soul. The Song of a Phoenix. The Song of Fawkes. The song heard a year ago.

It gave consolation. It gave courage. It gave hope. And she tried again. There was one last thing she could use against her Professor. She didn't want to, but she had to. She needed to.

"Professor," she started softly. "Do you remember the day before Dumbledore's burial?"

The head she had lowered now snapped up and there was something in her glance as she turned to look at her student.

"I remember."

She didn't want to do it. But she had to. She needed to.

"You went up to the Astronomy Tower that night. I was there. I heard what you said. I heard your every word, Minerva…"

She didn't notice the use of her first name. Not that she would have minded.

"Do you remember what you said that night?" her brave Gryffindor went on. "Do you? Because I do. Every word."

"I remember."

---

She had made her choice. And she was going to do it. She was a Gryffindor, after all. And no one was able to stop her. No one.

---

She turned the Time Turner round one circle, sent the last glance to her companion and disappeared.

To give her life. For love.

---

For a long moment she remained standing were she was, staring at the empty place in front of her.

"I remember," she said to the void. "_I would have given my life for you – had you only given me a chance to do it. I would have given you everything that is mine to give, without hesitation. Why didn't you give me the chance to die for you? Why, Albus, why?_"

"I remember," she repeated. "I remember you and what you did, Minerva."

---

**Author's Notes:**

Well, that was it - I hope you liked it!

Now, I'm asking this just out of curiosity - who do you think this sentence referred to - 'She was starting to lose the fight'?

It doesn't really matter much, and you can understand it either way, but I'm just, as I said, curious. :P


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